Sometimes your thoughts can be slowed down and sometimes they cannot. Sometimes you’re ahead in life and sometimes you’re simply and suddenly… not.

It’s difficult to explain where I am lately. Some days are good, others aren’t. I know that I am improving in tiny increments, but I also know that something inside me has frozen itself and that I am going to need help unlocking it and breaking it out of the ice. I’m not sure how I got to this point in my life. In August, I was down 30 lbs, healthy, energetic, full of projects, and laying out plans. By February, I was sitting in my pajamas all day, wavering between crying jags and a complete emotional shutdown.

The next few weeks will be busy and intense and I have to find a way to keep my head above it all without cracking. I trust myself to breathe and try my best, but lately I am vulnerable and it scares me. I’m not vulnerable. I’m not a girl who gets depressed and cries a lot. I’m not a girl that sulks and wants to give up.

But a few weeks ago… I was nearly there. Maybe it’s a January thing, maybe it’s a recovering from pneumonia thing, maybe it’s an I’ve-gained-back-nearly-12lbs thing, or maybe it’s something deeper. Either way, I’m tired of trying to figure out what it is and move onto getting past it. Over the past two weeks, I’ve been seeing a therapist that isn’t exactly the right fit for me. (The type of therapy will be covered in future password protected entries.) The fact that she isn’t the right fit for me isn’t really my issue. (I’m planning to cancel all future appointments with her tomorrow, provided I don’t chicken out.) What has become apparent to me already though is that I could definitely use therapy right now. Being able to talk about my issues out loud to a neutral third party somehow makes me realize that I am, in fact, drowning. And despite my best efforts to be tough and soldier on through most everything life throws at me, some things require a life preserver… or at least someone else that can help me find one. I spent most of the day today playing phone tag with various therapists and I’m hoping that I’ve already found a better fit – at least that’s the vibe I got over the phone. I’ll know more in a week when I begin a long string of “new patient” visits with various therapists to find the one I click with.

In the meantime, I do not have the luxury of slowing down or stopping. We have a slew of exterior home projects that must be completed in this, our last year in the Fixer Upper. One of the biggest and most expensive projects lies just ahead of us and I am both exhilarated by the prospect of it and panicked by the cost. (We have to take a loan out for this one – trust me, it’s big.) In addition to all of that, my physical health issues continue to require attention. Yet again, I am seeing a dietitian in order to help me understand the massive clusterfuck that is my metabolism/endocrine system. I am also due for the regular endocrinologist and allergist visits/bloodwork/checkups, et cetera, et cetera.

Then there is the animal front. Wyatt still has not found a home and I am really not sure why. He is a wonderful dog, but for some reason the only interest he seems to get from people is fleeting. I’m starting to notice Big Dog Discrimination the more we have him and I’m kind of stunned by it. I don’t know if that’s the reason he hasn’t been adopted yet, but the longer he is here, the harder it will be for him to transition to a new life. I don’t want that for him, but at the same time I really miss our simple two beagle life. Still, he’s pretty damn great to have around and at this point, I’m just enjoying the hell out of him.

Bogey is scheduled for a long-awaited knee surgery in two weeks. The recovery on that one will be intense and though I don’t mind tending to sick animals (I kind of enjoy it really), it’s still a drain in an already hectic (and fragile) time for all of us. Add to that the major stressor in our animal life lately: Buddy’s cancer has possibly returned only 4 months after having it removed. It was a chance we were aware of back in November when he had his tumor removed, but to see how quickly this aggressive form of cancer has returned has really brought everything home to us. We’re still undecided if we will pursue chemotherapy or further surgeries, but either way our time with him is limited. To add insult to injury, our staggering vet bills from this past year have complicated everything. We find ourselves in the position of putting a monetary value on a beloved animal’s life. It sucks and it sucks bad. But when you have 7 animals to consider, it just doesn’t seem fair to go broke for one of them when all of them are just as valuable. In the end, I hope to do what’s right by him. But I also know that no decision we make is going to be easy. Cancer is cancer, even when you’re a cat. Granted, he is a 13 year old FIV+ cat, but he is pretty damn awesome. Seriously, I wish you could meet him.

In other news, I’ve taken on some little things in my life lately. Little things just for me. Something that’s been on my wish list for at least two years now is a massive cell phone upgrade. After much research and consideration, we finally made the leap into iPhone World. There are some little things I miss about our Androids (blinking light for notifications rather than just sound effects, better Gmail integration, having a back button, more free apps) but those are all little things. I swear this thing is keeping me more organized. I never thought it possible that a phone could be so revolutionary, but I get it now. No, they’re not perfect. But yeah, they’re pretty damn great.

Another little thing I’ve been delving into: Buddhism. Okay, maybe not so little. I discovered a podcast and a book called The Reluctant Buddhist. In the podcast, the author himself reads the entire book, chapter by chapter. I’ve only listened to a couple chapters so far and every time I’ve heard something that’s resonated so deeply with me. It’s like feeling something crack open in myself. On more than one occasion, I was brought to tears and just overwhelmed with how understood I suddenly felt. (Finally! Someone gets where I’m coming from!) That’s a powerful feeling and I’m still just delving into it. So far though, I’m really blown away and I hope to explore it all a little further. I want to take my time with this one, really feel it out and get my hands in there a bit. It’s rare I find a religious idealism that resonates with me but so far I’m hopeful.

One more little thing: I’ve made my very first appointment with an acupuncturist. Yes, me. A big step for a (former?) needlephobe, yes? I decided it was time to tackle my persistent neck and hip pain. So when my chiropractor suggested it, I decided why the hell not? If it hurts, it hurts. I’ve been through worse. But if it helps… so many things could be different. It feels funny to say this, but I’m kind of excited about it. So there’s that.

The last little thing I’m doing for myself lately? Drawing. I found an Adult Beginner class months ago and I’ve been curious for a while. So I finally took the leap, bought some supplies and jumped in. So far? I really really love it. As a photography student, drawing was something I could never do properly and I never really had to learn it anyway so I never bothered. But I always found it frustrating when I couldn’t illustrate my ideas. Since I took this class though, I’m seeing everything in shadows, shading, light, shapes, and charcoal. I’ve only had one class so far, but in the past week I’ve already become bored with shapes and bowls of fruit and moved on to this:

Obviously I’m a bit of a perfectionist (and always will be) so I’m still noticing all the little flaws and things I could have done better. But I find I’m not beating myself up about it so much. Actually, I’m often just excited about the prospect of doing another drawing and doing it better. I miss making art. I hope to do it more.

I’m coming out of the fog ever so slowly. It’s a process, sometimes painful, sometimes easier than I imagined. But it’s still a process and processes take time. I value those of you that come here and offer input, feedback, support. I’m not the best at saying thank you or answering comments or emails. But I do read the words and sentiments you bring here and I value them immensely. I hope to continue this walk toward the light, even if only in these tiny, tiny steps.

Quick question here:

If you’ve been to a therapist twice already and you still don’t feel comfortable with her style and approach, do you stick with it or do you find someone different?

She’s not horrible and she’s made some good points, but in the end, I walk out of there annoyed more often than not. Even Jeff went with me the second time and we agreed that she wasn’t horrible, but she’s just not “with it.” I feel like I have to explain psychology to her half the time. It’s annoying.

This bugs me because I want the therapy, but I also don’t want to pay for services I don’t feel I really got. And even if you decide to go with someone different, how do you break up with a therapist? This is all driving me nuts.

Feedback? Please share.

2011 was a rough year for me. The first half of the year was full of hope, optimism, possibilities, the gathering of knowledge. Then large home projects started to make the road a bit more bumpy. Then in April, Wyatt came to us and suddenly I felt like something was breaking me open, speaking to me in loud bursts, “Do this. Do this. Do THIS.” The moments of YES were there, but the clarity was lacking. It’s as though I was standing at a crossroads and every path felt exhilarating, but I still didn’t know which way to go. We had high hopes of ending the year on a clear path, set to attain our goals and start embarking on a better life.

Then July happened.

Wyatt was simultaneously adopted and not-adopted in a space of three weeks. My mother had a major back surgery that left me as her only caregiver. Our birthdays came and went and I was so overwhelmed I barely noticed them. At some point in late July, the anger began. A slow infinitesimal burn that I pushed away successfully until September. We renewed our vows on Mackinac Island and had a wonderful Michigan vacation. The entire time though, I felt that something had shifted – either in my world or the world around me. Family and the unbalanced demands and undeserved criticisms that came with both of our families and their behavior began to grate on me. It wasn’t the usual “our families are nuts” feeling where we would laugh about it, vent and move on. This was something further, something that started to shake my very core. I soon began to realize that nearly all the familial relationships in my life were so one-sided that they were killing me. I also realized that by staying numb and continuing to isolate myself from them, I wasn’t saving myself, but rather I was ignoring people that were too self-involved to noticed they were being ignored. I wasn’t punishing anyone, I wasn’t surviving, I was just lying in wait, hoping that someday I might magically begin to thrive without having to do any of the work.

There were other stressors too. Several of our friends began to have children or get married or re-married or pursue grad school; they all had new directions, new optimism, new paths that were bound to take them to exciting places and change them for the better. We, however, felt stuck. I took a lot of that pressure on myself. The year was nearly at an end and I: hadn’t pursued my plans of vet school, hadn’t picked a direction for my life, hadn’t finished all the large home projects on our agenda, hadn’t found a home for Wyatt, hadn’t begun creating an income, hadn’t stuck with my fitness routine, hadn’t kept the weight off. My physical health began to suffer and my mental health took a nosedive.

December brought more turmoil. In addition to carrying around an inhaler, I now had to carry around a blood glucose meter. I had such little enthusiasm for the holidays that it took me nearly two weeks to finish hanging all the decorations. We didn’t send out holiday cards until after Christmas. I made party food for family and then we opened our gifts at 2am in a haze. No matter what we did, I found I just didn’t care. Wyatt was a bright spot for both of us, especially me. It was his first real holiday season so I enjoyed watching him breathe in everything for the first time. People from all over the country sent him gifts and wrote him letters and I loved seeing him be so loved by so many. Other than that, our holidays were quite unremarkable. In fact, I couldn’t wait for them to be over.

At the end of the year, I was struck with a severe bout of bronchitis and pneumonia that left me bedridden for all of January. It is now mid-February and though I have been getting back out into the world slowly, I am still recovering. But my recovery is not just physical. It is mental. It is spiritual.

And then it isn’t. Because in actuality, there has been no recovery.

I am not as bad as I was in January or December, but I am certainly not at my best either. This past year broke me open, lifted me up, smashed me to the floor, dragged me on the ground, and broke me to bits all over again. Something in me has been steadily shaking all year long. By the end of 2011, I found that so many pieces of me got tired of balancing precariously and finally just started to shake loose or crumble entirely. I was angry all the time. My moods were erratic, as were my sleep patterns and energy levels. I knew I wasn’t happy but I didn’t know exactly what I was. My marriage started to suffer. We argued nearly every day. Small irritations turned into bickering matches which turned into crying arguments which then resulted in silence and numbness. For we both knew that if we opened our mouths, the arguments would start all over again. No topic was safe, every gesture was annoying, every nerve was shot, and no good or bad deed went unpunished.

Though it was suggested to me that clinical depression might be the issue, I knew it was deeper than that. Something had shifted inside me and my entire life had become about something intangible, a feeling of dissatisfaction that was pushing me into a nasty place. I was lost, I was out of patience, and I was denying the well of emotions that had been bubbling angrily to the surface for the past year of my life. A pill and a prescription was not going to fix that.

On Tuesday, I will begin seeing a very specialized therapist. She is not a typical therapist or even the kind of therapist you see if you’ve had a childhood like mine. She is however a small step for me into a different direction. This overwhelming feeling of being stuck has to get resolved or my life will never begin moving forward. I can’t tackle all my issues head-on in one year or even in a few sessions on a therapist’s couch, but I can begin with this tiny step. My hope is that this will set me on a new path down a road where things start to break open and make sense for me. I am not searching for a magic bullet, but I am searching for calm and clarity in my mind. With all this toxic nastiness that’s floated to the surface in the past six months, I’m realizing I need someone else to help me rake the muck away. I’ve done a lot on my own in my life and I know I’m an intuitive strong person, but I’m tired of getting in my own way. I’m nervous (because I realize the details of my life never look good on paper in a therapist’s file), but mostly I just hope taking this step gets me to where I need to be.

I am writing this entry not to tell you that I am having a hard time (although I am). Rather, I am writing because there might be a bit of bloodletting to come in the foreseeable future. I think in order to be truly candid with myself and to give this type of therapy a real honest try, I am going to be writing some very personal and password protected entries. If you would like to read them, please leave a comment or send me an email. If not, I will not be offended. I am not throwing this information out there in order to receive attention or praise, trust me. Chances are, if you come here often enough to ask for a password, then we are friends anyway. (Though if you know me on Facebook, please keep all of this to yourself. There’s a reason I blog anonymously.) To be honest, most of you that come here are people I care about, so your feedback is important to me. Also, and the real reason I continue to write as I have these past few years, being able to trace my own journey and express my thoughts are often the best form of therapy I have. I’ve grown so much in the form of writing and I’ve let so many things go that were holding me down. For me, the written word is insightful freedom.

So there it is. I believe I’ve laid most everything out – at least the cards that are on the table thus far. I’m sure there will be more revelations to come. I can’t exactly say that I welcome them – this particular form of therapy is going to bring exhausting days I’m sure, but maybe new cards are what I need. Maybe the table needs new life. Maybe there needs to be a dealer to keep things fair. Or maybe it’s not about horrible gambling metaphors and words, but rather just me. Sitting on a bench, staring into the fog, feeling the heaviness, and waiting for things to become clear.